


mother stands for comfort

by cassanabaratheon



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/pseuds/cassanabaratheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her jewels are gone and her hair is unbound and left, for the moment, to tumble down her back and over her shoulders that cave in a little. There is no crown on her head and she is simply Mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mother stands for comfort

**Author's Note:**

> takes place in ep4 - the night after the games between Francis and Tomas.

He knocks at her door and waits for a moment, tracing circles on the wood until one of her ladies lets him inside. She lifts her head and slowly closes the volume she is reading, placing it carefully by her side on the chaise. He hazards a guess at the content of it, probably Petrarch – a reminder of her heritage and words she takes a dose of comfort from. She has changed for the evening, her dress is loose and allows for her body to soften and her back to ease from its rigid posture throughout the day. In the candlelight, she is warmer and her guard is lowered, and her mood is mellow. Her jewels are gone and her hair is unbound and left, for the moment, to tumble down her back and over her shoulders that cave in a little. There is no crown on her head and she is simply Mother.

“Francis,” she says, a small, if somewhat, bemused smile flickers on her lips as, simultaneously, worry clouds her eyes. She intends to stand, unfolding her legs from where she had gathered them up under her, but he waves her off and simply goes to her and she, without hesitation, moves to allow him the space to lie in her embrace. He leans against her, pliable and yet sturdier than any pillar of marble. The back of his head rests against her left shoulder and her arm moves around, hooking under his, and rests on his chest. It’s familiar and warm and he smiles at that. With the other, she strokes his hair back as she did when he was a small child before pressing a kiss there. He has not done this for so long that he cannot recall the last time.

“What is it, my love? Is it Mary, hmm?”

He sighs heavily, tipping his head back so he can see her face and she can read his intent. “I don’t want to talk about her. Not now.”

“Francis-”

“Mother,” he interjects and she gives in, brushing her fingers through his hair.

A few minutes pass by until she murmurs, “You were very good today, my dear.”

“You would say that,” he smiles. “You’re my mother.”

She chuckles lightly and he can feel it vibrate through him. “On the contrary, you know that if I thought you were lacking in skill I would have sent you to practice.”

He makes a face and she laughs with more conviction. It has been a while since they have been like this. Perhaps she thinks the same, for as he tips his head back to look at her face, he sees that it is clouded over, her smile tinged with sadness in the corners. She is letting him see this, he knows. She won’t let his father view her in such a manner but, with him, she dismantles her walls just a fraction.

He squeezes the hand that lies over his heart and she, instantly, squeezes back.

“Now, why don’t you read to me,” she says whilst she hands him the volume and he grins to himself as he had guessed right. “The Triumph of Chastity, I suggest.”

He shifts so that his head now rests in her lap and she smiles down at him as he rolls his eyes at her choice before flicking through, finding the passage easily and, with a fond tap of encouragement on his shoulder from her, he began. 


End file.
